


Nothing in His Life Became Him Like the Leaving It

by gothula



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Classic Vampires, Dracula - Freeform, F/M, Gratuitous Horror Film & Shakespeare references, M/M, Past Feral Derek, Peter's not a bad guy, Psychological Trauma, Slow Build, slow posting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:25:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothula/pseuds/gothula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the seven years since they started living the paranormal horrorfest, the Pack managed to make Beacon Hills a sleepy little town once more. There are no more mysterious deaths, no more nights of blind terror, but now something's coming. Prophetic dreams and mysterious strangers set Stiles on edge, but nothing can prepare him for the coming revelations.</p><p> </p><p>(Dracula: Destination Beacon Hills)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Heavy with a feverish weariness, Stiles crawled into his old bed with out even bothering to take off his coat. He clawed half-heartedly at the dark comforter until he managed to ruck it up and unbury his pillow. The scent of the fabric softener Dad liked clung to the cool linen. There was something else there just on the edge of his human senses; he'd have to remember to ask Scott to super-sniffer the hint of sawdust and wet gravel. Right now Stiles was too immersed in post-finals exhaustion to do anything but lie there and breathe. 

His mind ignored the desperate need for his body to rest and rehashed the questions on his last final while intermittently pausing to create a loose agenda of what and when he'd need for the convocation at the end of the week. He took slow, deep breaths and just let his brain run itself down. That didn't work - never did - but Stiles never gave up the hope that it might one day. The same problem always followed too many late nights with too little sleep and more than the recommended dose of Adderall, but before college those nights usually included running for his life so the adrenaline crash would knock him out. 

Someone started tugging the comforter and sheets out from under him, and Stiles wondered if he'd managed to doze off for a while. Dad wasn't due home until after 9 pm.

"Wanted to sleep here. Lee's still got a couple tests to study for and I'm sick of quizzing him," Stiles mumbled, trying fruitlessly to lift up for the sheets to slide out easier. He sighed when the pulling stopped and his sneakers were tugged off. "I don't have to be out of the dorm until Sunday night, so I can load up after graduation. Missed you lots."

The hands pulling his blankets up paused, and Stiles squirmed onto his side as he felt weight settle beside him. He was too tired to be surprised that it was Derek instead of his Dad. A visit home was never complete without a night-time creep from his favorite alpha creeper. "You're coming to graduation, right?"

"Yeah, "Derek promised, pulling the blanket up higher on his shoulder. His hand drifted up to squeeze the back of Stiles's neck. "Go to sleep. I'll let Huck know you're home."

"Who's that?"

Derek huffed a little laugh. "Your dad? The sheriff?"

"Oh,"Stiles nodded. "It's not fair. Everybody can say his name. He should've named me Huck Jr. I'd be an awesome Huck."

"Yeah,"Derek teased in his wicked deadpan. "Poor Stiles. Nobody could ever call you Huckleberry junior."

"Point, wolfman."Stiles sighed and patted the mattress beside Derek's hip. "Crash with me. I'll fall asleep faster if I know you're not out there getting eaten by a possessed tree...again."

"For the millionth time: it was a tree spirit," Derek grumbled, nudging Stiles over to fit along his left side on the narrow bed.

"It was the tree scene from _Poltergeist_ in live action, Derek. All we needed was that creepy lady with the helium voice yelling, 'Go into the light, Carol Anne!" Stiles shifted on to his back and flailed forcing Derek to get under the blankets or be knocked off the bed. He tensed, feeling slightly more awake when a knew train of thought roared through him. "Oh Shit! You'd tell me if you could smell like a mass grave under my house, right?"

Derek's only response was to wrap a clawed hand over Stiles's mouth and settle on the shared pillow.

"You suck," Stiles muttered against the preternaturally warm skin, but his eyes were drooping. Seven years of positive reinforcement made Derek relaxed his own personal Pavlovian sleep-aid. Whenever their paranoid, hyper-vigilant Alpha was content enough to close his eyes and take an afternoon nap, Stiles boarded a nonstop train to dreamland. For those first four years, sleep was a luxury.

Since Peter's exorcism a week into their second summer break from college, things had finally calmed down. Stiles said another thank you to every horror movie that ever hinted that resurrected people bring along demonic passengers and a silent Told-You-So to everyone but Lydia. She was the one who proved the whole demonic possession thing to both Chris and Derek; thus, no one had Told-You-So rights with her.

When did Derek move his hand to rub Stiles's chest like that? Stiles didn't know, but it felt awesome as sleep slowed his thoughts to a Me-Stiles, Bed-Warm level. As he drifted away, Stiles wondered idly if he dreamed Derek saying, "I missed you, too."


	2. The Doomed Truck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most people want their dreams to come true. Stiles just wanted to make a solid year without seeing a corpse. He kind of hates that his counter had to be reset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm cribbing iconic Dracula moments. No, I'm not sorry. Hope you enjoy the brief,meandering chapter.

The scent of wet pavement filled Stiles's head so strongly that he licked at its phantom taste with every breath. He frowned turning a slow circle to get his bearings. It looked like the middle of the road outside Beacon Hills beyond the far west border of the preserve in the pouring rain. Stiles wasn't sure what made him so certain of that, but he learned to trust his instincts on the weirder side of life years ago.

"Derek?" he called quietly, hoping the werewolf was close enough and conscious enough to hear him. The last thing he remembered was dragging the alpha werewolf under his covers for a puppy pile of two - sadly not one that included any foreplay. Stiles swallowed down the old ache of their mutual sexlessness while he replayed the moment they layed down in his mind, hoping to remeber anything out of place around them before he woke up here. He gave up as the icy rain soaked through his tshirt. 

Memory loss generally meant magic was involved. He hated dealing with bad people and things using magic. If this was another faerie of the unseelie court, he was going to have strong words with Deaton about the charms he'd insisted Stiles alone spend months erecting along the territory borders. Clearly, they'd missed something, and he wasn't going to make a paste using th urine of everyone in pack and spread it on the trees with his hands ever again if it wasn't effective.

When no one answered or growled in response to his call, he checked his pockets for a phone or flashlight. He had neither but being alone, unarmed, and without a means to call for help was also miserably familiar. Sighing loudly, Stiles hunched his shoulders against the chill of the rain and started walking east down the road. He took only two steps before lightning flashed over head so close that he was night-blinded with a jagged line of light swimming in his vision. 

He rubbed his eyes as the thunder growled and blinked as a new light filled the road around him. Stiles watched the yellow line disappear under the snout-like hood of the red semi that barrelled toward him. Too disoriented to do more than wonder where the hell it came from, he flinched as the grill struck him. Lightning blinded him in another dazzling flash, and as suddenly as he'd appeared on the highway, he was sitting in the damp vinyl passenger seat with thunder jarring his teeth and making the whole cab shiver.

The driver's harsh breaths were wet, and the too familiar coppery stench of blood replaced the smell of the wet road. 

"Dude!" Stiles whispered, taking in the blood soaked truck driver. A reddish brown, full-on Magnum PI mustache filled the   
narrow face. A blood-drenched workshirt said 'Mark' over the left breast. Just beneath the embroidery, the man's torso was torn open. Pieces of shredded muscle dangled loosely and dripped nearly black blood onto his soaked lap. The man didn't react to him at all. Pale and shaking deep in pain and shock, Mark muttered the 23rd Psalm over and over again as he wrapped silver duck tape around his fist, around the gearshift and around his fist again. Using his knee to manage the wheel while he worked. It had to hurt to move like that with his guts torn out. He cluthed a makeshift cross made of a white plastic fork and knife in his bound hand while he wrapped the wheel with his freehand. Then, in a Stiles-worthy, feat of one-part coordination and three-parts desperation, he managed to twist the roll around his hand on the wheel and use his mouth to wrap that hand twice. Mark left the roll of tape to dangle there and started to sob as his recitation of the Psalms turned to thready pleas for God to just let him get home.

Stiles tried to ask what was going on, but he couldn't move. He wasn't paralyzed, but he felt detached, like he wasn't really there at all. 

Mark leaned back to rub his head against the headrest and push his hat off sobbing the whole time. The 'free mustache rides' cap fell into Stiles lap. When he looked down at it, he heard a loud, metallic shriek from behind them, and then something big landed on the cab roof. It was a testament to Stiles's horrible life choices that he recognized the sound of a person scrabbling on the roof of a vehicle.

He looked back up at the trucker in time to see a white hand with long fingers shatter the driver's window and tear out the man's throat. Blood sprayed the windshield, and the trucker cut the wheel with the last of his strength. The tires skidded and wailed as the cab jack-knifed on the wet road. They tipped down the low shoulder as the trailer pushed the cab over, rolling ontop of it in a screaming tumble.

Lightning flash again, and Stiles screamed as strong hands grabbed his shoulders.

"Stiles!" Derek snarled, shaking him roughly. Awake and gulping down air like he'd been suffocating, Stiles grabbed at Derek's arms. Red glowing eyes and the hint of claws scraping his skin were a strange but familiar comfort.

"Nightmare," he panted. A distant rumble of thunder made him flinch as Stiles looked around his old bed room. They were safe. It was dark outside with rain pelting the window loudly, but they were still in his room - safe and sound. "Just a serious, fucked up nightmare."

They were sitting up on the bed with the blanket and sheets shoved half in the floor. Derek had shifted to his beta form at some point and watched him with the fierceness that only a werewolf showing his eyebrowless fury can really pull off. "I've never heard you scream like that."

"Really?" Stiles asked, trying to make himself laugh. Laughing would feel so much better than the bone deep terror that was still crawling around inside him. "Cause you've heard a lot of my screams. Everything from my orgasm scream -which I'm not bringing up because we agreed that you never walked in on that - to a 'Holy Shit that thing is trying to eat me' scream. I'll deny it - if anyone asks - but I'm pretty sure you even heard my 'Oh My God, that spider is huge.' scream. That covers like my full range."

Derek calmed down, letting his bones shift and pop back into the shape of his human face as Stiles spoke. He didn't move his hands off Stiles's shoulders or turn off the red-light eyes, but he at least put the fur and fangs away.

"I think that dream fell somewhere between the evil gnomes thing and that flying skin-eater guy." Stiles's rambling ended in a tight huff when Derek pulled him into one of those wonderful, rare tight hugs. They were a privilege of the nearly eviscerated and the rare 'lycanthropy's hard' moment between wolves. This wasn't a neardeath or hairy feelings situation, but Stiles never complained about getting a free pass to hold on to Derek.

"You were terrified," Derek growled into his neck, squeezing him. "The smell of it woke me up."

Both curious of the logistics and slightly offended at the insinuation, Stiles hunched a little more into the hug. "Is that a thing? I mean I know your sense of smell is strong, but I mean alarm clock strong?"

Letting out a deep, damp breath that Stiles recognized a part of the 'everyone should smell like we lick them' pack scenting thing, Derek shrugged against his shoulder. "Smell is one of our strongest senses. You're pack, and I smelled your fear. I woke up shifted to deal with a threat."

Stiles bit his lip and gave an embarrased shrug. "False alarm. Sorry." 

Derek eased back. He kept his hands on Stiles's forearms, wolf instincts making him more tactile in the face of a distressed Pack member. "You're safe here, Stiles. Even without me, your house has wards, and I can smell the shot gun your Dad left beside -"

"Hey, no." Stiles wave a hand at his Alpha. This did not need to turn into a coddle-Stiles session. "Relax. It really was just a random nightmare. A gutted trucker named Mark duct taped himself to the wheel, chanted Bible verses, and flipped his semi while I was riding shotgun. I think we can agree that it's the result of too much stress from finals and too many study sessions with _Ice Road Truckers_ in the background. And possibly a criticism of my taste in trucker hats," Stiles leaned heavily against the headboard behind him. "I'm good."

Derek watched him with the unblinking predator stare that always made Stiles wonder how much of a born werewolf was actually human. Stiles sighed and stretched. "Hey, you hungry? I've been thinking about the Whittle Spoon's curly fries all week."

For a minute, Stiles watched Derek resist. He probably wanted to rehash every detail of the dream to find some poor inanimate object to blame and claw to death, but finally the Alpha gave in with a nod. He hopped off the bed, stretching, too, and then dumped Stiles's sneakers on his lap. Making the expected complaints about Derek getting dirty shoes on his sheets and one tired joke about dog hair, Stiles savored the sense of accomplishment. Derek was giving him an impatient scowl as he took his time with the laces, but it beat the hell out of the concerned, 'Stiles-is-made-of-glass' look from a couple minutes ago.

Appealing to their puppy brain when one of the wolves got too concerned about fragile little Stiles was simply a matter of eating together or taking a group nap. It appealed to their instincts and reassured them on a very basic level. On some level it was probably manipulative and morally iffy, but a regular human needed an edge now and again. 

Right now sleep was the last thing Stiles wanted, so he'd give Derek peace of mind and score curly fries at the same time. Everybody wins.

********

They were five minutes from the Whittle Spoon Cafe downtown when Derek's phone rang.

"Dude, the still rocking the standard ring tone?" Stiles teased, grinning from the passenger seat as Derek passed over his phone. 

"Put it on speaker," Derek ordered, keeping his eyes on the road. He could play stoic all he wanted; Stiles could see the hint of a smirk growing on his lips. 

Stiles swallowed his witty banter when he saw 'Sheriff' on the display. "Hey Dad."

"Stiles? Good to finally hear from you, kid. Later, we're gonna talk about why you have a phone at school if you're never going to call home, but right now I need to talk to Derek." His Dad sounded too worried for Stiles to make any arguements.

"You're on speaker," Derek called a little loudly. Sometimes he over compensated for weak human senses just a little too hard.

"We've got a possible animal attack out on Riley's Road. I'd like you to take a look before the ME releases the body."

Derek turned into the empty courthouse parking lot and turned around. "We're on our way."

"Anything you can do to keep Stiles in the car would be appreciated," the Sheriff sighed heavily as Stiles made a noise of protest.

"Not cool! I'm so not a kid any more."

Dad chuckled. "That was a very mature sentence, son, but it's more about you being a civilian than your age nowadays."

Stiles sneered at that comment, but Derek forestalled his reply. "Twenty minutes, sir. If you can keep the new guys from trampling through possible tracks again, I'll lock Stiles in the trunk."

"Hey!"

Dad's outright laugh but both of them in the dog house for Stiles. "That I'd pay to see. See you boys in twenty." 

The call disconnected, and Stiles dumped Derek's phone in his lap as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Have I ever mentioned that you and Dad getting all buddy-buddy creeps me out?"

"Every time you come home," Derek smiled, awkwardly jamming the phone into his pants pocket. "Get my credentials out."

Stiles sighed like it was a horrible imposition, but grabbed the thin leather case out of the tidy glove box. He toyed with the little flip wallet and reread the little paper. "Don't Park Rangers have like badges?"

"The Federal Parks Service does. I'm a private Ranger hired by the Preserve to prevent poaching." Derek grumbled. "Are you ever going to quit harping on that?"

Stiles grinned. He loved this arguement and intended to have it until he could persuade Derek to go into law enforcement. power to arrest a hunter for attempted murder would be awesome. "I just think you need a badge. It'll look more official than a laminate."

"That laminate was official enough to get hunters arrested for criminal trespass and poaching on protected land," Derek pointed out with a rare bright, spiteful smile. 

"Yeah, okay. That was an awesome night." Stiles agreed. They lost their guns, their permits, their trucks, and all of their wicked equipment was confiscated. Even Argent couldn't argue that it was the most effective deterrent for rogue hunters they'd ever used. Werewolf threats and trouble with local hunters didn't intimdate like the threat of losing their precious firearms and getting a criminal record. Three of the eight men that night were wanted in other states for everything from unpaid parking fines to multiple murder charges. "I still say you need a badge."

Derek sighed like Stiles was a horrible imposition and drummed his fingers on the wheel. "Your Dad's talking to the town council. He wants to create a liason position to work with the Preserve since we've had such an upswing in illegal hunting in the last few years."

"Really?" Stiles squeaked. He would forever contend that it was a manly squeak.

"Really. I'll have to take some classes at the academy, but he's using the angle that poaching could be what drove that mountain lion to attack people when I first moved back into town."

"Depleted food source and all that? Cool. Go Dad." Stiles beamed. "Why am I just hearing this?"

"Huck didn't want you charging into a council meeting and making a scene if they say no."

Stiles chuckled. He was going to do just that. Hell, he'd convince Jackson to get his dad on their side as a Pack favor.

"Leave it alone, Stiles," Derek growled. It was his trademarked 'tear your throat out with my teeth' growl, but Stiles was long since immune to that form of intimidation.

"I said nothing!" He protested, giving his best Bond villain cackle. "Nothing at all!"

Derek shook his head and turned on the radio. They spent the rest of the ride arguing about radio stations and finally discussing Isaac's change from engineering to liberal arts. By the time the police lights came into view, Stiles had nearly forgotten why they were driving out there to begin with.

The road up ahead was a sea of flashing lights and emergency vehicles with the coroner's SUV waiting on the otherside of the Sheriff's cruiser. Stiles noticed all of that, but his eyes were glued to the overturned red semi.

"Oh God. Oh God." He whispered, feeling all the blood drain from his face.

"Stiles?" Derek asked, slowing down and looking over at him.

"That's the truck from my dream," Stiles hissed, gripping the dash. "Derek, if the trucker's name is Mark and he has a big mustache, we're calling Deaton. The thing in my dream had human hands."

"Okay," Derek pulled up beside the cruiser and took his credentials from Stiles's limp hand. "You stay in the car. It could still be nearby."

"My Dad - "

"If you're safe in the car, I can focus on protecting him. Okay? You stay here. If anything happens, drive back to town and call in Jackson and Boyd. They're in town."

"Okay," Stiles whispered, feeling sick. Derek gripped his knee, and their eyes met. 

"I'll tell him to swap his clip, alright? Just stay here and lock your door."

Stiles nodded mutely and flinched at the click when Derek locked his own door before closing it and walking around the hood. He stopped watching Derek with his Dad and kept his eyes glued to the trees.

********

"How the hell did you get him to stay in the car?" the Sheriff asked with a wry grin as Derek walked up. He always wore that little grin when they talked about Stiles. 

Derek glanced at the sheet covered body in the cab. "Change your clip, Huck, and keep your eyes open."

"Shit," the Sheriff shifted to let Derek block him from view of the milling deputies as he traded his standard issue clip for one coated with wolfsbane. "Omega?"

"No, it doesn't smell like it, but Stiles dreamed this wreck. He said the trucker's name is Mark and he has a moustache - maybe half an hour before you called us."

"Fucking hell? Yeah, he's Mark Green and the moustache. Fuck. That's about when it happened. Carl drove up on it just as the trailer stopped moving. He didn't see anything," the Sheriff looked back at Derek's sleek car with his pale son inside. "I'll send him to keep Stiles in the car."

Derek nodded and headed for the body as the Sheriff waved to Deputy Carl Hastings. The Medical Examiner Emma Grayson gave Derek a grim smile. "Poor crazy bastard," she sighed, waving at the cab. Her assistant was working on something from the passenger seat.

Derek moved the sheet, taking in the torn throat first. It did look like claws. If not for the smell, he'd had guessed it was a rogue werewolf. The whole place smelled like wet barn dirt and something cloyingly sweet. He'd smelt it before, but it was hard to pinpoint. "He taped himself to the wheel?"

"And the gearshift," David - the assistant ME - chimed in from where he was carefully cutting the tape free. Emma clucked her tongue. "I'll have to send away for the toxicology, but I'm guessing he was high on something. Lots of drugs can cause paranoia, hallucinations. From the tire marks, the Sheriff thinks he swerved to miss something and lost it. If not for his throat, I'd have called it a car wreck."

"Doesn't look like he had an animal in the cab with him," Derek turned, studying the ground like he was looking for tracks. The grass was too dense to hold any, but he was more interested in following the sweet smell. It headed into the woods, but disappeared right at the base of one of the sturdier trees. 

The Sheriff walked down the steep shoulder. "Anything?"

"Might have been a big cat." Derek pointed at the fresh claw mark on the bark of the sturdy tree. "The trucker swerved to miss it. It smells blood and comes to check. Any of the wounds look like bite marks?"

Emma shook her head. "No, just the tearing at the throat and some gashes on the belly, but Hasting showed up just after it happened."

"The sirens would have scared it into the woods," Huck pointed out quietly. Derek tensed, and he could sympathize. They both hated this part. The Sheriff wanted people to know something dangerous was here. He wanted parents keeping close tabs on their kids and no one wandering the forest after dark, but Pack didn't need the panic or attention. "It wasn't attacking him. Just scared and hungry. I don't think it'll bother anyone."

"Good enough for me," Emma smiled. She shrugged and gave Derek another of her come-hither looks that he ignored every time they met. Moments like this, the Sheriff worried about the man. He needed more of a life than just keeping reign on the local hairier population.

"Yeah," Derek looked back into the woods. "I'll come back in the morning and look for more signs. The Preserve's border is about a mile back, but I need to keep tabs on new predators looking to move in."

"Good idea," Huck nodded. "Let's wrap this up. Derek? You mind Stiles driving your car back to town and hanging out with us til we get this squared away? I'll give you a ride back to town."

"Sure, I'll have him go to the station. He'll be climbing the walls at your place otherwise." Derek held the Sheriff's gaze, telling him that he didn't want Stiles alone.

"Have him call one of his friends to keep him out of Herald's hair. My dispatcher's threatened to lock him in a holding cell if I let him have the run of the place like last summer," the Sheriff suggested with a fake smile. If Derek didn't want Stiles alone, then Huck wanted a member of the Pack with him.

Derek nodded and jogged to his car. Stiles rolled down the window, and the Sheriff watched them talk briefly. Derek reached in to catch hold of Stiles's chin, and then drew back, saying something to Carl. The Deputy nodded and all but ran around the hood to get in the driver's seat. 

"Oh," Emma whispered, turning quickly back to her work when the Sheriff looked at her. She blushed and pretended not to notice his curious stare. Her assistant snickered, and Huck didn't sigh out loud. He was still getting used to how touchy most of the werewolves were with Stiles; to an outsider it would look a little overly familiar. No wonder Stiles couldn't get a date. Everyone thought they had Derek Hale as competition. He glanced at the body and swallowed hard. He'd have a word with Hale about it after this particular mess was sorted out.

Derek came back, jerking his head at his rapidly disappearing car. "Stiles drove home today. He's too tired to drive on a wet road; so I asked Carl to take him back. Didn't think you'd mind."

"Nope," the Sheriff agreed. "Give us a hand moving cruisers? Jojo's Towing should be here soon. He's bringing the big truck to help get the trailer back up on it's wheels."

"Sure," Derek nodded, following Huck through the maze of emergency vehicles. The ambulance pulled closer to the cab for Emma and David to load the body. If the werewolf could make out their gossiping whispers, Huck was a little proud of how completely he ignored them.

With all the commotion, none of them noticed the blood red eyes high in a nearby tree watching them with rapt attention.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Macbeth_. 
> 
> Mostly dictated using a tablet and a mic. Not beta'd.


End file.
